Make Art: Rejane Pratelli, Artist at Home
Rejane Pratelli shares how she was able to experience the healing power of art through silversmithing which she uses to create beautiful, one-of-a-kind wearable sculptures.
I grew up watching my very skilled mother trying her hand at a wide array of crafts, from tapestry to clay work, quilting to crochet to marbling paints. I would enthusiastically give it a try too, but we all had to admit I was so clumsy and unfocused that it was safer for all concerned if I went back to my books. Much later, when I needed a break from a high-stress, high-stakes life as an academic researcher, quilting would be the craft I’d turn to. But when an aneurysm deprived me of the ability to speak and use my hands for endless months, I didn’t feel like going back to anything I had ever done before. I would have been frustrated and feeling hopeless fast.
Learning new things is the best way to help your brain heal. I had always been fascinated by metal working, and an exhibition of Albert Paley’s forged iron sculptures gave me the final push: I would learn metalsmithing. Heavy smithing was well beyond my physical abilities, but I found a silversmithing instructor who wasn’t too worried about my impaired fingers. I learned the basics in a couple of workshops and practiced at home. My fingers slowly rediscovered their job. I worked more precisely and faster, and my love for sterling silver jewelry grew by the day. In addition to healing my body, I realized that silversmithing offered a way for me to process the trauma of the aneurysm and subsequent radical changes in my personal and professional life. Now, six years later, I can’t imagine my life without spending at least a few hours every day in my studio, playing with silver and fire.
I usually simply describe myself as a jewelry artist, but I think my work is really a cross between jewelry and wearable sculpture. I developed a few (unorthodox) techniques to create unique textures and unconventional shapes, which allow me to create one-of-a-kind pieces that I wouldn’t be able to reproduce even if I wanted to, except maybe by casting. To me that’s the most fascinating part of my work, and I embrace every step of the making process as a game rather than an actual job.
This being said, my journey into art is not a traditional one and I often struggle with the imposter syndrome. “Me, a real artist? Come on!” But there are two facts that I cannot overlook: silversmithing has been the key to the healing of my body and my mind, and an amazing number of my customers see a meaningful story in the pieces they buy from me. They connect with some pieces in a way that really blows me away. That certainly is a part of what our society expects from the concepts of “art” and “artist.” But even though I’m still not sure what label really defines what I make and who I am, the process brings me happiness and relief, and the end products seem to trigger equally deep feelings in the audience. In a very selfish way, I don’t think I could ever ask for a better reward.
My work has never really been on the bright and shiny side, but it has taken a darker shade recently. I’m luckier than most though: my life has not been that much affected by the Covid pandemic. I am sheltered in my home studio, and whenever I’m in the “playroom,” time stops and I just dive down into the creative well. However, I won’t pretend I’m immune to all the stress and distress all over the word and I regularly experience the anxiety of being helpless and trapped by this tiny but powerful enemy. The pieces I have been creating since March carry more or less openly this idea of being trapped, be it with bold, dense patterns, “grippy” stone settings, or very organic and tortured shapes created by fusion or salt- or broom-casting. I very rarely work in series, but I came up with a distressed fence-like pattern that is at the same time a bit gloomy but liberating (at least to me!) and this is turning into a series of rings, earrings and bracelets called the “Trapped” collection.
A number of friends in the art world (painters, silversmiths, weavers, quilters) have told me about their “Covid-freeze.” Life as we knew it came to a jarring halt and it sadly took away their creative momentum. I am so thankful I was spared that torture. Maybe it’s because art is truly my therapy. This is how I process the storms in my brain. But it’s like meditation. It takes time and practice to find that quiet place where making can happen. Some days, that place is just too far away. There’s no point in pushing it. Bake a cake instead! It’s still making, and everything is better with cake! Sometimes, just playing with your supplies helps, too. I usually have a messy area on my bench with stones and funky pieces of silver scraps that I push around until I can see a pattern. At other times, it’s just not about making. It’s about playing. Trying a new technique, challenging your way of doing things, without aiming for an end-product. Sending away the productivity-obsessed businessperson and re-awakening the inner child: being curious, playful and nonjudgmental. And when everything fails, here’s my secret to sweet talking creativity into coming back home: grab a hammer! OK, most people may not have as many as I do (24 currently), but with a hammer comes texture, change of shape, and a cheerful song that makes me feel more serene and open to unexpected ideas. I’m back to my happy place.
You can learn more about Rejane and view more of her art work at her website (anvilfireandtime.com), on Facebook (anvilfireandtime) or Instagram (@anvilfireandtime).